


Shadows Are Just As Dangerous

by SuperFandoms



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game), Gravity Falls
Genre: Ford Pines Has Issues, Ford's free real estate, Nonbinary Character, Partial Mind Control, Stockholm Syndrome, Trauma, Two decades is a long time to be in a chair, Wilson is pissed, rightfully so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperFandoms/pseuds/SuperFandoms
Summary: A voice had crackled out of his radio, telling Ford how he could make a portal to another world, the Constant. Ever the fool, Ford listened. After battling for years to reach his captor, Ford finds him a husk of a man, and releases him.
Kudos: 30





	Shadows Are Just As Dangerous

Holding his breath, Ford slams the Voxola-topped key into its slot, destroying the Nightmare Throne. He watches, pensively, when Maxwell stands up.

The torturer before him falls to his knees, screaming as he disintegrates before Ford's horrified eyes. Ford steps forward, grabbing at Maxwell's bones, even as they turn to dust.

Absorbed in his horror, he doesn't notice the shadows pooling around his feet. What he does notice is those shadows grabbing his legs. Ford starts, attempting to run away. The shadows trip him, pulling him underground. For a brief moment, he sees **Them** , and then he's solid again, sitting on a chair.

His heart racing, Ford tries to stand up. A strange grip on his entire back pulls him back down. Ford closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. Deep breaths. Before he can settle fully into rational thought, the gramophone he had turned off switches itself back on. Ford's eyes bunch up. He needs to focus, but it's impossible with that music.

\---

At least a day has passed, Ford thinks. The music still plays, and he can't fall asleep. Whether that's because of the music, or because of Their whispers, Ford can't say. He's known about Them for a while now, mentions of Them were burned into his memory from his harrowing fight with the Ancient Fuelweaver.

" **They are coming. It cannot be stopped.** " and " **They are unfathomable.** " were phrases that tended to stick in one's mind when being calmly growled at you by a being that tore apart your sanity as it pleased.

A shudder ran over Ford's body. They were trying to speak to him again. He wished They would stop.

\---

Though he couldn't tell for sure how long it had been since he was trapped, Ford guessed that a week had passed. His feet moved in time with the beat of that infernal song. That song messed with him, and he couldn't really tell why.

These days, it was far too easy to understand Them. If the Nightmares could exist in this particular plane of reality, he'd be dead. Assuming, or course, that They would let him die. Maxwell had mentioned that he had attempted... Things. Ford wouldn't stoop that low. Ford went back to listening to the song. That was better than listening to Them.

\---

Ford's fingers unconsciously moved along with the song, tapping out the rhythm in perfect time. Sometimes, Ford sang along. It bothered him, how the song sounded almost like voices after that. Maybe it was the fault of Them. He could blame just about anything on Them, if he tried. Except, or course, his own inadequacy.

An attempt at keeping his body in working shape was difficult, and struggling against Their hold was nearly as hard. They were always holding him in place, but not entirely. If Ford tried hard enough, maybe he could get out.

Ford notices his fingers moving. He can't really stop them.

\---

At least a month has passed. Ford's crossed over boredom, terror, and laughing insanity so many times. He's really just numb right now. A whisper from Them tries to tell him something. Ford can barely bring himself to ignore it. The whispers aren't monotony. Sitting here, head facing one direction, is.

His muscles have long since atrophied. Struggling wasn't doing anything, and if- Damn it. When he escaped this place, he'd get back into shape.

Another "if" had slipped into his thoughts. He really only had himself to blame. Deteriorating thought patterns wasn't Their fault so much as they were his own, probably. They're whispering again. He listens to the voice-song instead.

\---

The words are finally clear! Ford sings along, best he can with his cracked and dehydrated throat.

"Please stop, leave me alone. I didn't do anything to you- Another fire, why! We're out of food again." The song continues as Ford's voice cracks. He coughs a few times, unfortunately not helping his cause any.

As has become common, They whisper to him. Tilting his head, Ford thinks as loudly as he can.

 _Please, give me something to drink._ They seem to quiet for a brief moment. And then, sheer bliss. Ford can feel the water running down his throat, even though he isn't swallowing. They whisper again. Ford listens.

\---

Ford thinks it's been about four months. They tell him it's only been three. Ford does his best impression of a shrug. 

The "two" have worked out a deal of sorts. Ford listens to Them, and in exchange, he gets water when thirsty. He thinks it's a good enough idea. It's not really needed for him to follow through. All They've really said so far is that he needs to bring new people into the Constant.

More people in the Constant would technically mean more company, but Ford doesn't want to take anyone out of their lives. They suggest speaking to people that lead miserable lives. 

Admittedly, they'd be happier if they were self-sufficient. So, Ford searches.

\---

It's a while before the near-omniscience that They've granted him finally picks up on a suitable candidate. An inventor, he's rather fond of this one. For the matter of interacting with this "Wilson", the man owns a Voxola radio. For some reason, those are a device he can project his voice through.

And so he does, teaching Wilson how to open the same portal he had, promising power and fame beyond his wildest dreams.

(For some reason, those words make Ford squirm. He presses on anyways.)

Wilson finishes his portal, but hesitates. Ford snaps at him to turn it on. The inventor jumps, then does as he's told, flipping the lever and opening the swirling maw of the interdimentional device. In a scene oddly familiar to Ford, the shadows in the room grab Wilson, dragging him into them and then into the Constant.

Ford can feel the man's presence as he scurries about. Odd. He wants to document that feeling somehow.

\---

It's what feels like a week later when Ford realizes what he's done, bursting into tears. He's ripped a man away from his family, trapping him in a dimension filled with ancient and unimaginable horrors.

Their whispers calm him. Ford leans into Them mentally, the best he can.

\---

Wilson's died. Ford watches this blankly. Should he feel something? He's never died, what does it feel like? They reassure him that Wilson will be alive again eventually. Besides, now he knows to avoid Hounds!

An all-around win, really.

\---

It's been a year since Wilson's joined the Constant. Ford's been messing with the Constant a fair bit, making creatures that caught his fancy. A giant ice-cyclops was one of his personal favorites. Though the killer bees were rather uninspired, they did their job quite well.

Ooh, Wilson was about to find Ford's Bee Queen!

\---

What was his name? He couldn't remember. They couldn't remember? They didn't get any answers from Them. Of course, they were in lowercase. The being that they and They had brought to the Constant was surviving. A brief thought popped into their head, that they were just a puppet for them.

Instantly, They assured them that being a puppet was fine, and normal. They smiled, they couldn't agree more.

\---

Ford remembered their name. They still used the pronouns, though. After a couple decades of being a puppet for some shadows and eldritch beings, gender stopped mattering. What did matter, was that Wilson was finding the clues they'd left! Waiting for him to find the pieces to the dimensional climber was excruciating.

At last, Wilson had ascended a rung of the ladder. Four more to go, and then they'd be free.

\---

Only a month or so really passed this time! Ford was happy, and for some reason, They were too. Maybe They liked Wilson. Peering into the distance, Ford could see the same self-lighting torches they themself had passed when going to kill Maxwell.

The wait for Wilson felt both like an eternity and the blink of an eye. Then, Wilson was there. His face scrunched up, and he turned off the gramophone.

Ford drew in a deep breath. "Thank you." Their voice stopped for a moment, then They hydrated them. "I've been listening to that song for an eternity."

Wilson seems to examine the Throne and the keyslot. He finally turns his eyes on Ford, growling. Ford idly notes as Wilson's attempt on their life fails. They crack a grin. "That won't work, you know. I've tried."

A scowl on his face, Wilson looks at the keyhole yet again. He sends a determined look Ford's way, sticking the key into its slot nicely.

Ford breathes deeply as the chair falls. They fall to the ground. There's no noise, and then they're falling apart. They scream a thanks the best they can in their pain, and then they're naught but dust.

\---

Ford opens their eyes. They try to stand, marveling at being flat on their back for the first time in decades. A gruff voice fusses over them, telling them to stay still.

"Are you one of Them? They don't usually sound like that." Ford asks.

There's a brief pause, and the voice, far softer than before, mumbles an identity. "It's me, brother. It's me, Stanley."


End file.
